


Twilight's End

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Colorado (X-Files), Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-12
Updated: 2003-09-12
Packaged: 2019-04-27 05:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: sequel to 'Day Tripping' - what happens underground





	1. Twilight's End

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Twllight's End Chapter 1

## Twllight's End Chapter 1

### by diehard

Title: Twilight's End  
Author: diehard  
Rating: MSR/WIP R/NC-17 for language and sexuality. 

Classification: WIP, MSR, Alternate Universe, Post 'Truth.' Follow up to 'Day Tripping.' 

Spoilers: Takes place directly where   
'Day Tripping' left off. 

Keywords: Seek and ye shall find. 

Summary: Underground, Mulder and Scully attempt to find a way to launch an   
offensive. 

beta by the lovely sallie 

website courtesy of the unbelievably   
talented Circe Invidiosa.  
[www.invidiosa.com/diehard](http://www.invidiosa.com/diehard)

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Chapter 1 

She feels him stir and slide out of her embrace. In a blurry, early morning haze, she barely makes out the crooning in her ear, 

"It's OK, Outlaw....Go back to sleep." 

The kingdom of sleep reclaims her, pulling her down before she can find out what he's doing. It's a slow free fall, and before she knows it, the motel room is gone and the two of them are standing on a rocky outcropping, and there's nothing but blue twilight all around them. She can feel the last of day slip away and chill night air seep into her bones. Dream Scully shivers, as stars flicker and pulse above them. Mulder reaches for her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. 

He's the antidote for everything cold. 

"I've got you, Scully...." 

Without warning, white streaks blaze across the sky, zooming closer and closer. Shooting stars rain down, all around them and she tenses, bracing for impact. The night sky's shredding apart, but Mulder's arms hold her tight, and he whispers over and over, "I've got you." 

Scully remembers hearing those words yesterday. 

Fear dissolves as she relaxes against him, it's the the one shelter she has left. The scene shift abruptly, flipping back in time---replaying yesterday. Now they're saying goodbye to their son---then something ominous rolls toward them as they scan the far horizon. 

We have each other, Mulder, she tells him inside the dream. Whatever happens, no matter what, he replies. The menace keeps closing in, but she's fearless. 

Whatever happens, no matter what. That, she knows, is truth. 

She awakens to find Mulder sitting at the foot of the bed, naked and hunched over the laptop. Slowly pushing aside the sheets, she slides herself down and curls up next to him. He's just written a message to J. Montoya, asking for a meeting location, specific directions, and a time to meet. Hitting the encryption password, she watches as the words dissolve into a combination of numbers, symbols and Dine phrases, disappearing into the ether. 

Just like us, she thinks. 

"It's you." Shutting down, and setting the laptop on the floor, he then leans down and kisses her good morning. 

"Were you expecting someone else?" Smiling, she lets the taste of him linger on her lips. 

Wrangling around, he stretches out next her and shakes his head. "Nope...Got what I want right here." 

Pulling him close, she wraps her arms and legs around him, and whispers into his shoulder, "Me, too." 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It's only been a half hour, thirty minutes on the cosmic clock, but when it's like this, time slips its bonds. Side by side, they're a braid of limbs, breathing in unison. There's no need to make love, just the need to be.The seconds stretch, each one etching itself in memory. Looking into each others eyes, they see what scientists and mystics could never explain, the one thing they never planned on finding. 

Slowly, Mulder rolls on top, covering her with his long body. He wants to hide her from the world, from everything dangerous, but he can't. In a part of his dura matter, they just find someplace and let themselves morph into a man and a woman living an ordinary life. But there's another part of his brain that knows better. Scully seems to read his mind, smiling slightly, as she once again does what needs to be done, becomes who he needs her to be. 

"I should shower first, I'll need a little extra time this morning." 

He knows what she means. Last night, along with their fast food banquet, cheap wine, and wedding rings, he bought hair coloring for her. Time to lose something else, time to watch another piece of Scully disappear without a trace. 

"Yeah," he sighs, "I should see if our new best friend's sent us anything." 

Groaning, he moves away from her and gingerly eases to the foot of the bed. Rolling his neck, he inhales deeply, taking in the smell of them, the musty and chlorine scent of every motel room he's ever known, gearing up for what's next, for what the day will bring. Leaning over, he fishes for the laptop, fires it up to retrieve today's words to live by. 

"C'mon, J. Montoya," he tells the screen, "don't disappoint us." 

She's not so quick to move, taking one last minute to let her whole body feel his phantom weight, his solid strength, his heat. Shifting so she has a good view, she lets herself watch the play of muscles of his back, remembering how her fingertips pressed hard along his spine as he made her come apart with pleasure just a few hours ago. 'Wither thou goest,' she pledges in silence, as she takes one last look. But this morning's reverie must come to an end. They're on the run, and the good little fugitive she is decides to get up and get going. 

She's almost to the threshold of the bathroom when he calls her over. 

"Scully, we've got mail." 

He punches in the encription code, and they both watch the message materialize. 'Meet me at 2 pm,' it says. Six hours away, Scully notes. Six hours and counting. 

Directions to Hard Line are next--it's a little over two hours away, off the Interstate, mostly on county roads. It won't be that long of a drive, Mulder thinks. He hopes Montoya will have a good place for them to set up camp. It looks like that's all and Mulder goes to wipe it, but Scully stops him. 

"Wait, there's something else coming through." It's a three word sentence that makes them look at each other. 

'Don't be late.' 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

She's showered, and found the other clean towel that somehow was lying crumpled on the bathroom floor and set it carefully on the sink. She'll need it later. Her own damp scrap of terrycloth's been placed carefully on the rack. Mulder will have to use it too, not that it'll be a problem. Her teeth are brushed, and now she's opening the box, mixing the dye, and trying not to feel the crushing sadness that's rapidly overtaking her. Looking in the mirror, she sees one sad and troubled woman staring back. This is nothing, she thinks, this is just a bump in the road. It's an incongruent response, an overreaction. After all the death and loss and sacrifice, this is nothing, just one more thing stripped away. 

A single tear runs down the side of her face. "Damn it." 'This is ridiculous,' scolding herself as she swipes it away. 'Do it and get it over with.' 

What she doesn't realize is that Mulder's standing to one side of the threshold and has been watching her the whole time. 

"Don't," his voice cracks when he speaks. "I don't want you to." 

His eyes are as dark as fallen leaves, dying grass. 

Startled, she sets the dye on the sink, barely avoiding a spill. Turning to him, she tries to sound in control. 

"I'm fine, Mulder, just a little tired." She proffers a weak smile that doesn't fool him, and she knows it. 

Walking up to the sink, he takes the dye and flushes it down the toilet, watching dark brown water swirl and vanish. She doesn't say a word, doesn't move. Still damp from the shower, hair wet and slicked back against her head, she's frozen in place. 

Coming back to her, he cradles her head in his hands, snakes his fingers along her scalp and twists the thick, wet strands through his fingers. He knows he can't ask her to do this. He doesn't want her to do this. Not this. 

"I want you to be Scully," he breathes into her ear. Every moment of the past nine years is flooding him right now, and this is the one thing he can save for her. 

"Mulder..." She wants something to stay the same, something as small and as enormous as this. She wants, she just wants. Turning toward him, that same hunger is mirrored in his gray slate eyes. 

Kissing wildly, everywhere--face, mouth, neck, shoulder, they can't hold back. Somehow, they stumble to the side, then he's got her against the wall, facing the cold tile. 

Raising her arms above her head, she steadies herself, palms down, bracing herself as he bears down. His cock's hard, hard, hard, and she parts her legs and takes a hand to reach around to grab him, and he thrusts inside to the hilt. 

Reaching back with both hands, she grabs his hips as he thrusts again and again. He's got his arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring them in place. Moaning, strangled words escape, and their voices echo in this tiny room. She can feel him swell and throb inside her, and she's so wet, her clit aching, her body's coiled for release. 

Abruptly, he stops, pulling out of her, and turns her around. 

"Don't stop," she pleads. 

"I'm not," he pants. "I'm not....I need to see you." Pulling her to him, he lifts her so she can wrap her legs around the small of his back. Leaning into the tile, he slides into her again, this time with long, slow strokes. Clutching his shoulders, she bows her head enough to bite the side of his neck. Sliding a hand between them, he finds her clit, and starts stroking her hard, sweet spot. She starts that beautiful trembling, and it pushes him over the edge. They come together, breathless and shaking, then collapse against the slick, cool, bathrooom wall. 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

They've gotten good at rapid recovery. They kiss, and he slides her down his body until she has her footing. Smoothing her hair into place, he plays with the tips, seemingly lost in thought. A faint smile plays at his lips and she knows something's got him preoccupied, something unexpected. 

Cupping his face in her hands, she tilts his head down to get his attention. "I know that look, Mulder....C'mon, spill." 

"I thought we could play salon, Scully. You've got scissors in that medical bag, right? Hindsight tells me I missed my calling." 

"You want to cut my hair?" Her mouth goes slack with incredulity. 

"You need a new 'do'....Something that says, 'I'm hiding in plain sight.' " 

Letting a slow smile spread across her face, she lets her hands fall away and starts backing away from him, heading toward the bedroom. "You're a pretty kinky guy, you know that, don't you?" 

"That doesn't sound like a complaint, Scully." His wolfish grin speaks volumes. 

Minutes later, he's got her standing in front of the mirror again, both of them still naked--snipping lock after lock of hair with almost surgical precision, gently stroking her neck each place new skin is exposed. Soon, the floor around them is littered with long strands, and there's a woman staring back from the mirror with a chin length bob, with make-up free, freckled skin, looking like she's in her late 20's. She might be a hiker, or grad student. It's still Scully, but not--it's some alternate version of herself. She peers at this familiar stranger, amazed that something so simple actually worked. Behind her, she sees Mulder's taking in his handiwork, apparently satisfied with the transformation. The stranger catches Mulder's eye and smiles, and he smiles back. 

Apparently he wants to make her acquaintance. 

"Voila...Very sporty....Very chic. Now we just get you a bandana to wear, or a baseball cap, and we're good to go." 

"What about you, partner?" 

"Oh, I'm thinkin' a few day's stubble, and getting a cap of my own should do the trick." 

"You left out something, you know." 

"What's that Scully?" 

"Cool shades, I understand they're de rigeur for couples on the run." 

"You're sounding more and more like me all the time." 

She showers again, and he makes sure all the hair's bagged up in the trash. Time to hide the tracks, suit up and hit the road. 

Emerging dripping wet, she dries off one more time with the towel she left on the rack. The water's still running and the room's getting steamy. 

"I left the good one on the sink for you." 

"You're too good to me." 

"Outlaw courtesy, Mulder." And she disappears to get dressed and get a move on. 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

They're taking Interstate 160 for about 20 more miles, surrounded by the sprawl of Great Sand Dunes National Monument, all stark desert--white sand dotted with red mesas at the far horizon. It's hot during the day and cool at night, so T-shirts, tanks, and jeans are their haute couture. Once winter comes, it'll be a different story, if they're still here. 

They left Alamosa about an hour ago, after buying some basic camping equipment, light provisions, jean jackets with flannel linings, a blue bandana and two black baseball caps. Mulder had passed this combination general store, post office and gas station in last night's foray to the diner, liquor store, and pawn shop. Having hit Jake's Dry Goods--provisions purchased and gas tank filled, the official town tour was complete. Along with their caps and their requisite shades, they've also slipped on the identities of David Stern and Delia Connor. 

The 20 miles click by quickly and they turn onto Route 10. They're supposed to take it until they see the turn off for Las Animas Mountains. They're about 45 minutes away from where the turn off's supposed to be--once they're on the side road, it should only be a ten minute drive. The blue and black basalt peaks are looming close now. If he stopped the car, they could probably walk the couple of miles to where the grass covered foothills start. 

Mulder turns on the radio and is treated to nothing but static. Clicking it off, he starts tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He's keyed up; he knows Scully is, too. At least they've got AC; it was about 90 degrees in Alamosa, cooler now that they're at a higher elevation. He notices he still has the Bureau habit of never driving with the windows down, and wonders how long that will last. Turning down the arctic blast, he glances at Scully and gives their SUV some gas. 

There are miles and miles of aspen, Ponderosa and bristlecone pine,blue-green sentinels that loom dark and foreboding, blocking out parts of the brilliant blue sky. They speed past scattered patches of yellow oxalis, and purple outcroppings of wild lavender, when an idea slowly begins to form in Scully's mind. She wants a distraction from worry, from the tension that's forming a knot between her shoulders. 

They haven't said much since they left, both of them hoping that this isn't a wild goose chase, or worse still, a trap. Montoya is supposed to be a MUFON member, someone the Gunmen trusted enough for them to risk everything. But neither of them confuse calculated risk with blind trust. Each of them has a loaded Walther tucked into their boot. A Colt, clips at the ready, hides in the glove compartment, too. It's deserted out here, no signs of anything except mountain vegetation. No towns, no state police, nothing but the scenery sprawling on either side, and streaming black top ahead. 

So far, so good. 

"Lupine," she announces, breaking the silence. Wanting to ease the tension for both of them, she hopes he picks up on her challenge. 

"Lupinus Fabaceae. You must want a beat down, Scully." 

"We'll see, Oxford Boy," chuffing, as she scans the side of the road. "Monkshood." 

"Aconitum columbianum Helleboraceae. God, you make it so easy." 

She keeps tossing out the name of wildflower after wildflower, and the time slips by. The tight line in his jaw's softened and she can feel that her heart's no longer thudding. Passing a weathered wooden sign that says 'Pimenton Road/Las Animas Foothills 5 miles,' they take note and fall silent again. Soon David and Delia would see whether the Gunmen delivered. 

Pimenton's barely visible as they close in, and as they follow the shoulder bend for the turn off, the tiny dirt road makes a sharp right and Mulder hurriedly hits the brakes as a mass of white appears out of nowhere. Tires screech, a huge dust cloud is raised, and they jerk forward as the car goes in an instant from 65 to zero. When the dirt settles, they get a good look at what's blocking the road. 

Sheep. 

About three dozen sheep, who apparently want to take their sweet time. And from the looks of his ribbon vest, turquoise jewelry and long, white braid, a Dine elder, who could easily be ninety years old, if he's a day. With a serious, yet kindly expression on his face, he taps some of the sheep on the outside of the herd to move them along. Slowly looking up, he's surprised to see visitors. White visitors at that. He meanders over to the car, motions to Mulder to roll down his window. He does, and the elder man gets a blast of cold air. 

"Where you goin', son?" 

"We're on our way to visit a friend." He's got an odd combination of amusement and impatience going. This is just too surreal not to enjoy, but they're coming up on the time they should be at Montoya's compound. Glancing at Scully from the corner of his eye, he can tell she's got a similar take on the situation. 

"Sir, could you please move your sheep along?" Scully leans toward the driver's window, squeezing Mulder's knee with one hand. 

"They'll be done when they're done, Miss. They been here longer than you two. "With that, the old man turns, and regally strolls back to his flock. 

"Mulder, we've got five minutes to get to Montoya's" 

"You heard the man. Looks like we got ourselves a case of imminent domain." 

He leans over to turn on radio again, then settles back. Drumming his fingers on the dashboard, he does the only thing he can do--wait. Scully focuses her attention on the lazy stroll of livestock, trying to stay cool, stay focused. 

In the flattened cadence of English spoken by the Dine, they're treated to an intro and the call letters of the local station. "I'm Simon Bishti, and this is K-R-E-Z, voice of the rez," a man's soft voice explains. "And it's a good day to be indigenous." 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sheep and shepherd all finally meander to the other side of the road, and Mulder floors it. They should've been at Montoya's half an hour ago. Out of nowhere, they're right on top of it. Two squat cinder block structures, both with tin roofs--one larger than the other. The large one, maybe 1500 square feet, the smaller one, maybe half that. 

The smaller building's partially obscured by the larger one, and doesn't seem to have any windows. Next to the larger structure there's a beaten-up, late Army issue Jeep. They can also see a well, what looks like a large generator, and something else that gives them pause. 

It's a stone shrine of some sort, eight black obelisks about twenty feet tall, all arranged in a circle, with smaller slabs laid perpendicular to the base. They're tightly placed together, but there's enough room that someone could move in and out. 

He throws the SUV in park, and they both get out and start walking the fifty or so feet to the main building. There's no signs of any one outside. Stepping carefully onto the rickety, sloping wooden porch, they stop in front of the door. Mulder knocks. No answer. There's two small, dirt-streaked windows to the left of the door, and they both look inside. It's spartan to the extreme--wood stove, some cupboards, a tiny frig, table, chairs, sink, and toilet and shower partially hidden by an old brown curtain. No books, pictures, or personal effects, just a foot locker near the bed to indicate that someone might actually be spending time here. 

"Scully..." 

"Yeah, Mulder..." 

"Does this look as bad to you as it does to me?" 

"Yeah," she sighs, "it does." 

He fishes in his back pocket and pulls out the case with the picks. Crouching down low enough to start working the lock, he doesn't even wait for Scully's protest. 

She doesn't make one. Instead, she turns on her heels and tells him over her shoulder, "I'll check the building in the rear." 

"That's why I love you." 

She lets a smirk cross her face, as she stops to reach down and feel in her boot for her weapon. Pulling herself up to her full height, she takes a deep breath and disappears around the corner. 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It's either a tricky lock, or he's losing his touch, but it's taking him longer than he thought it would. 

"Fuck me," he spits. He hears the shuffle of feet behind him-- Scully must be done already. 

"Believe me, you're fucked." It's a woman's voice, but not the one he's expecting to hear. 

He feels the cold barrel of a gun at the base of his skull. 

"Stand up," the woman barks. 

"Listen, I can explain..." He slowly rises; the woman's hand grips his shoulder hard enough to bruise. 

"Shut up! You talk when I tell you. Say another goddamn word and I'll pull this trigger and put you in the ground." 

"Been there, done that." 

The barrel's shoved hard against his head, Mulder squeezes his eyes shut. He wants to say something, but before any words can form on his lips, it's Scully yelling. 

"Put down the gun!" She's back, and she got a bead on whoever this is. 

"I'll shoot him!" the woman declares. 

"I've got a clear shot at your head!" Scully shouts. Her adrenalin's rushing, the world's falling away, and she won't hesitate. "Don't make me do it!" 

The steel in that voice makes the other woman pull back a little. "Should I listen to her?" she hisses to Mulder. 

He seizes the opportunity. "We're the people who were supposed to be here a half hour ago. You should've mentioned Dine herders use Pimenton. The road was blocked... that's why we're late. I'm David Stern and the woman with a bead on you is Delia Connor. We confirmed the meeting this morning via encrypted email. The last thing you wrote was 'Don't be late.' " He feels her hesitate, then ease off on the trigger. "We have something in common...." he goes on, "the enemy of my enemy is my friend." 

Jerking the gun away, the woman slides it into her back holster. "Start talking."   
  


#### If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to diehard


	2. Twilight's End

 

Twllight's End Chapter 2

## Twllight's End Chapter 2

### by diehard

Title: Twilight's End  
Author: diehard  
Rating: MSR/WIP R/NC-17 for language and sexuality. 

Classification: WIP, MSR, Alternate Universe, Post 'Truth.' Follow up to 'Day Tripping.' 

Spoilers: Takes place directly where   
'Day Tripping' left off. 

Keywords: Seek and ye shall find. 

Summary: Underground, Mulder and Scully attempt to find a way to launch an   
offensive. 

beta by the lovely sallie 

website courtesy of the unbelievably   
talented Circe Invidiosa.  
[www.invidiosa.com/diehard](http://www.invidiosa.com/diehard)

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Chapter 2 

The woman motions for Scully to join them. Mulder's turned around and he's scanning his partner's face, locking eyes with her. Walking walks toward them; she's cautious, deliberate, her pistol held down at her side. Soon, all three of them are standing on the porch, and the other woman gestures for both of them to stand to the left, whiles he reaches into the side pocket of her cargo pants to pull out a set of keys. 

She's about five-six, late thirties, with black, close cropped hair, that hugs her head like a skullcap, olive skin, obsidian eyes. Black pants tucked into calf-high, lace up boots--standard Army issue, and a olive green tank. Rattling the key in the lock, she pushes open the door with her boot, and with a sweeping gesture, motions them inside. 

"I'm Montoya." Purposefully striding over to the rickety wooden table, the heels of her boots thud on the wooden floor. She yanks a chair out for each of them, and walks over to the sink and leans back, waiting. Lean and wound tight as a coil, her body tenses--her dark eyes keenly watch them, and there's a grim set to her full lips. She might have been a beautiful woman once, but that time's past. It's obvious the only thing she's been for a long, long time is a soldier. 

Slowly walking over to a chair, Mulder settles in while Scully stoically follows, taking her time and making sure she never breaks eye contact with their host. Her grip on her pistol's as tight as ever. Once seated, she feels her whole body tense as the woman approaches. 'I can get off a shot,' she thinks, and she starts raising her weapon. 

"It's all right, Delia." His voice's reassuring her, and she holds herself back while the stranger checks her, stopping when she runs across the implant scar. 

"Find what you were looking for?" he asks. 

"Maybe....Now I want to hear the whole story." Rubbing the nape of her own neck, Montoya's gaze never leaves Scully. 

"You know what happened..." Mulder stops trying to engage their host, her attention is elsewhere. He catches Scully's eye, "It's OK....Tell her." 

"I was abducted. My ova was stolen. I received an implant which gave me cancer." Scully's terse, carefully ennunciating each syllable. Her eyes are dull as she speaks, unreadable. 

"And you," Montoya nods at him, "What about you?" 

"No implants....I did get the full slice and dice, though. You see, a year or so before I was abducted, an artifact triggered an ability to hear people's thoughts, know when things were going to happen. Syndicate members tried to do some brain salad surgery on me, so I've got my souvenir." Shoving his hair back with his hand, he bows his head to show her the crescent ridge of scar tissue. "Seems it also bumped me into a different category." A faint smirk crossed his face. "They tried to make me a hatchery for a new and improved centurion. Didn't make the grade, though." 

Swallowing hard, trying to intuit Mulder's game plan, the reason for revealing so much, Scully struggles to calm her racing mind, still her pounding heart. A second later, she sees that his gamble's paying off. 

A look of recognition, then Montoya does something shocking---walking toward them, unholstering her pistol and placing it in her open palm. She steps back slightly, feeling the weight of the firearm. Her face unexepectedly softens, and in a wavering whisper she asks, "Who are you....who are you really?" 

There's a long moment in which Scully focuses on the dust mites swirling in a shaft of sunlight that struggled its way through one of the small, dirty windows in this gray, threadbare room. It trails along the edge of the battered table, marking off boundaries, uneasy neutral corners. Mulder's sitting across from her. She can feel his eyes searching to make contact, and she slowly shifts so that her eyes capture his. 

Whatever's next, they're ready. 

Montoya speaks again, but she's more composed. She's still holding the gun as if she trying to make a decision. Her dark eyes scan the same swirl of sunlight and dust. "I've been based out of here about a year...aiding fugitive hackers, people in the child rescue underground, burned-out 60's radicals. I've been waiting for two people in particular..." 

Mulder cuts in now, bringing Montoya's focus back to him and breathes in and out and wills himself to appear almost placid. "Looks like we have something to talk about. But we need more from you..." 

His voice is calm, so calm, it's his negotiator's voice--he has to get the answer he needs before he can drop cover. "You wouldn't trust me or her if we just roll over." Instinctively, leans forward enough so that his hand skims the edge of his boot. If this goes wrong, he'll fire on Montoya before she can reach her gun and shoot. 

Mulder hopes he right about where this is going, "Delia and I..." He's cut off before he can finish. From the corner of his eye, he can see Scully's fingers tighten around the trigger. 

"Dont." Montoya's voice is still soft. "Whatever the two are calling yourselves, it's not your real names. No one comes here using their real name...." Now she stares down at the tips of her boots. "Maybe if I say this we can get to it....If I'm wrong," she hesitates and looks over at Scully's hand, "you better be ready to kill me." 

Scully does not flinch, her blue eyes crystal clear as she meets Montoya's gaze. "Count on it." 

Montoya shifts back to Mulder, his smooth, undecipherable face. "You said we're fighting the same enemy...You mean the aliens, the invasion, don't you? If you are who I think you are, you'll know who sent me back...who healed me...he was one of Them..." 

It takes all his training to keep his voice even toned, his response unhurried. Before he says a word, he glances at Scully. He sees the tension in her face pulling her features tight, but she gives him a look of acknowledgment, of acceptance, nodding almost imperceptably. 

"Jeremiah Smith. His name was Jeremiah Smith." 

Montoya's arms fall to her sides, pistol held now in a loose grip. Taking a long, deep breath, she exhales. "Yes...he took care of me onboard a spacecraft, helped me escape... I was sent back to help two other abductees--two FBI agents--a man and a woman, if they made it this far....He told me what he knew about their abductions, their names...but not what they looked like. He said appearances were deceiving." 

Mulder gets up, walks over and places a hand on Montoya's shoulder. 

"I'm Mulder." Gesturing with his free hand to the far side of the table. "And this, is Dana Scully." 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Montoya reholsters her weapon and takes in a long, deep breath. Her arms fall loosely to her sides. "Jeremiah Smith was a prisoner in our holding pen, where we were kept before They experimented on us or killed us....He would heal the ones They weren't through with yet. I guess the fact that I fought Them every every time they came for me meant something." 

Smiling ruefully, she went on. "Smith said he was one of the last of a group of alien resistors, but he'd been captured and imprisoned with us....He couldn't stand to watch the suffering, and They used him. Used him to treat the guinea pigs they still wanted... and destroy what was left when people died during the tests. The last time I had the tests it practically killed me. He saved me, and we came up with a plan to fight the aliens and the soldiers. I was hidden in the 'refuse,' dumped in the Arizona desert and found my way to the underground. 

"You contacted the Gunmen." Pushing back his chair, Mulder stretches out his long legs and takes a deep, cleansing breath. 

"It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be...not after I made myself known in MUFON circles." 

"You know they're dead, don't you?" Wincing slightly as he speaks, his jaw's tight with regret. 

"I assumed that when my messages to them got bounced back. You knew them?" 

It's Scully who answers, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "They were friends..." 

Mulder finishes, "...the best kind of friends." 

Their host says nothing, but nods and stares down at the tips of her boots. 

"And you've waited all this time for us?" Impassively scanning the woman's face, his gray-green eyes flicker. He's cautiously moving ahead, but every instinct he has tells him to trust her. 

Montoya's lips curved into what Mulder guesses is a familiar smirk. "Well, I managed to keep busy. Aside from the aiding and abetting fugitives, I gradually stockpiled weapons...weapons that we can use against the soldiers. Pistols, rifles, hollow point bullets, grenades, explosive devices with a difference..." 

Scully cut in, "Magnatite...you altered ammunition to carry magnitite..." 

"Seems like you've been doing some field research of your own." 

"We've discovered what its effect are. Are you suggesting you were sent back in order to launch an attack against the aliens?" 

"It's a little more complicated that that. It's about the two of you..."Montoya glances at Mulder, then back at Scully....The Resistance can't succeed without you." 

Hear that, Scully?" Mulder quips drily. Our leadership abilities are finally appreciated." 

"It's much greater than that...We need what's in you... both of you." 

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	3. Twilight's End

 

Twllight's End Chapter 3

## Twllight's End Chapter 3

### by diehard

Title: Twilight's End  
Author: diehard  
Rating: MSR/WIP R/NC-17 for language and sexuality. 

Classification: WIP, MSR, Alternate Universe, Post 'Truth.' Follow up to 'Day Tripping.' 

Spoilers: Takes place directly where   
'Day Tripping' left off. 

Keywords: Seek and ye shall find. 

Summary: Underground, Mulder and Scully attempt to find a way to launch an   
offensive. 

beta by the lovely sallie 

website courtesy of the unbelievably   
talented Circe Invidiosa.  
[www.invidiosa.com/diehard](http://www.invidiosa.com/diehard)

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Chapter 3 

An uneasy trust weaves itself around three strangers in a naked room in the middle of nowhere. Mulder stretches and cracks his knuckles, while Scully loosens her grip on the trigger and slowly sets her gun on the table. Montoya, still standing between the two of them, leans on the table with outstretched arms, palms flat against the weathered pine surface. 

Scully finally cracks open the silence. "What do you mean, 'both of us?' Are you saying Mulder has some kind of implant we couldn't detect?" Taking a breath, she releases it, tries to stifle the other question in the back of her mind. She will not let herself think the word 'cancer.' 

"No, his exposure to the artifact changed him. At least that's what I was told." 

"My abnormal brain activity." Mulder looks up at Montoya and shakes his head, he doesn't know how he always knows, but he knows. "That's not what you mean, is it?" 

"No, it isn't. You both have something in common, something physical." 

Scully feels a single bead of sweat work its way down her spine, Whatever information Montoya has, she wants it and wants it now. The tension and frustration's eating at her but she wills herself not to move, sitting ramrod straight in the ancient wooden chair. "Enough cryptic responses...we need..." 

"...answers." cuts in Mulder. He's trying to hold onto his reserve, but Scully recognizes the change in the color of his eyes. All traces of green are siphoned off by gray---something dark and angry is surfacing. 

Montoya tries to respond. "I have to know you're ready to take this to the next level." 

Scully surrepetitiously inches her hand along the tabletop, slowly wrapping her fingers around the Walther's grip. 

"We're here because we want to stop the end of the world. There's no going back for us...nothing to go back to." Mulder 's voice starts off carefully modulated, but he keeps getting louder as he goes on. Gripping his knees to steady himself, he struggles against the urge to start shouting. "We either take them out or go down trying. Is that ready enough for you?" He stares at her dead on, and she stares back, silent. 

Miraculously, it clicks into place, and the corners of Montoya's mouth form an actual, honest-to-god smile. "Good. I have information for your eyes only." The words hang in the air, and turning away from them, she strides to the bed and the footlocker on the floor. Looking over her shoulder, she glances over to Scully's weapon and the pistol sticking out Mulder's boot. "You won't need those... 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'...." 

Mulder rests his open hands on the table, and Scully slips the Walther carefully back into her boot. She beckons him, and easing to his feet, he's at her side in a couple of steps. Turning, she glances up at him, questioning. 

Their host has gone back to what she was doing, pulling open the lid of the storage box, and removes two black, rectangular objects, each about the size of cigar boxes, one larger than the other. There are no seams, no lids, no hinges. Just two solid masses. Walking back to the table slowly, she sets them gingerly in front of the two of them, then motions to Mulder. "You have to do this together." 

"Do what, exactly?" his voice curious. Scully's hand is on his thigh. 

"Each of you has to touch the boxes. They're designed to respond to your biosignatures and yours alone." Montoya sounds confident, a little brusque. Clearly, her temporary hesitancy's gone, and she sounds as if she's giving fellow soldiers directives now 

"Biosignatures? What are you not telling us?" Scully matches her tone, she knows how to give military attitude with the best of them. There's steel in her voice and in her eyes and she hopes it has the desired effect on Montoya. 

"Smith told me he and a small group of sympathizers prepared this, in the event you both survived and could find your way to me. He mentioned biosignatures when he gve me the boxes." Pointing to the larger of the two, "This is an information storing device. Two possible strategies for an offensive have been outlined, based on the rest of the information that's there.....You need to be briefed, then make a decision." 

"And what about us, what is it about us that's so important?" Scully keeps pressing. 

"You're necessary....There's something that makes you different from other abductees, something that links you together....and somehow connects you to the vaccine. That's all I can tell you. What specific information's in the box is for you alone....I don't need to know, don't want to know.... 

"Eyes only, then?" Mulder asks, his sixth sense itching. Last night, hope was little more than a wish in the dark. Today, he thinks it might be found inside a black box. 

"Yeah, eyes only....While you do what what you need to do, I'm going to get rid of a potential problem. Give me your car keys." 

Glancing at Scully, he bites back a grin when she raises an eyebrow. Some things never change, he tells himself. Catching her eye, he gives her a slight nod. Then, both turning to Montoya, they stare her down, waiting for an explanation. 

"We need to dump that SUV...it's a tipoff you're not from around here." 

He hears Scully sighing as he reaches into his back pocket and tosses the keys. 

Montoya's hand shoots up, and in one quick, fluid move, she makes the grab. Keys are shoved into her cargo pants, and she ambles over to the bed, pulls a Makarov semiautomatic from under the pillow, and reaches under the bed to retrieve a Glock 9mm. Striding back to where her guests are waiting, she offers an explanation. "I have a contact who'll trade me the gas guzzler for a ride that won't stick out like a sore thumb. I'll be back tomorrow at first light....It'll take me that long to make the connect, do the deal and drive back." Shoving theweapons onto the table, "Take these, and unload them into anyone who comes here...including me...or anyone looking like me." 

Mulder pulls out the clip, "Magnatite in the bullets... In case our soldier friends stop by for a little search and destroy..." 

"That's right...consider it extra insurance. Smith told me you'd be safe in this location. It's loaded with deposits....The whole region is, from here, all the way to Roswell....I just want you to be prepared in case recon somehow pushes through." Looking over to the still seated Scully." I'm guessing you won't have a problem dropping any uninvited visitors." 

Scully hasn't said much and doesn't plan to. She doesn't completely trust this woman, but there's nothing new there. The one person who has her unconditional trust has decided for both of them, and there's nothing new there, either. Realizing that their new life's pretty much like their old life is strangely reassuring. 

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A few minutes later they're standing on the porch, watching Montoya hop into the SUV. Instead of turning toward the access road, she pulls up and stops in front of them. The window whirrs down and she sticks her head out. There's a slight smirk on those full lips."You'll find a bottle of tequila in the cupboard above the stove. Wouldn't want you to think I'm a bad host." 

With that, the window shoots up, and she floors it in reverse, pulls a U-turn, and in a matter of seconds becomes a dark blip speeding toward the main road. 

Mulder nudges Scully, and when she turns toward him, there's an old, familiar gleam in his eyes. 

"C'mon, honey, let's get it on." 

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